Nothing says renewal like spring. The grass is beginning to turn green and your car is temporarily painted Pollen Yellow. You can see places in the yard that have thinned and you make a note that soon you have to prepare flower beds and decide what you are going to put in the garden this year--- maybe some okra, carrots and tomatoes. This year we’ll plant more tomatoes.
Speaking of new growth I drove down to a medical clinic recently to have two questionable bumps on my face removed. An earlier examination found they had become aggressive, wanted more of me than they should and so they had to go. The clinic would take care of the bumps and I would take care of the co-pay.
The receptionist was nice but made me sign a paper stating nothing in my life has changed since last year (does that include my waist?) and I’m told to have a seat. I was now officially a number and joined the others in the lobby.
When you hang out at a medical clinic you get a glimpse of what life might be like later. “For better or for worse” becomes a reality as you watch old married couples. One shuffles his feet while pushing his spouse in a wheelchair. She appears to have been immobile for some time. She is thin and probably needs to be helped for even the most minor things. The man makes sure her oxygen bottle is sitting firmly in her lap as he, bent with age, pushes her through the doors to an examination room. Another couple sits in the lobby, one very animated and vocal while the other seems to be barely listening, quietly staring at the floor. The fabric of marriage has been worn by time. You see the threads that hold things together—love sewn with companionship over the years. One depends on the other and no matter who has left the toilet seat up or down, they’re in this together.
A nurse calls me in, finds a vein and fills three little vials up with liquid me. Then I’m ushered into another room and the doctor comes in. He says nice things about the weather and how the procedure will not hurt---much. He burns the cancer off of me, pronounces me fit to run the race of life and he leaves.
Then I’m let loose. They open the barn, slap me on my rump and I’m out the door and running back to home pastures. On impulse I exit the interstate and I’m in farm country with wide open fields and farm houses sitting back from the road. I roll the windows down and put on a Blues Brothers CD and play “Rawhide” with the volume turned way up. The wind is blowing my hair and I can smell fresh cut grass and feel the clean crisp air and it thrills me. I want to drive the cattle through Dodge City, shoot up the town and kiss Miss Kitty. Then later maybe check my email and Facebook for anything new.
I see a dark lump in the middle of the road and I realize it’s a dead skunk. Its spring and they are on the move-- lookin’ for luv’. I pass over him and immediately the air smells musky and fetid. The odor fills the ventilation system of the car and I wrinkle my nose and cough.
Nothing says spring like a dead amorous skunk. Love and renewal is all around and now, I can even smell it—for better and sometimes for worse.
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